


Less than Ordinary

by Caledonia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But he's fine now really, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's not Arthur’s first kidnapping ok, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, No Beta, Strangers to Lovers, Tags Are Hard, There is a lot of trauma in Arthur's past, Violence, a life less ordinary crossover, boys falling in love, but it's Uther who gets shot does that even count?, crossover fic, every time I see this film I think I NEED TO FIC THAT so here I go, mature rating for minor violence and implied sexual content, no magic, they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caledonia/pseuds/Caledonia
Summary: Everything in Merlin's life goes to shit in a matter of hours, so he storms his former boss's office intending to demand his job back. Except instead he ends up sort of accidentally kidnapping his boss's son. From there? Shenanigans.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover fic and an extremely bastardised plot of the Danny Boyle film A Life Less Ordinary. If you haven't seen the film I highly recommend it. Probably one of my favourite films of all time, and the plot is borrowed with the utmost respect to the original creators. I promise this work of fiction is not earning me any pennies whatsoever.

Merlin paced the lift, the blood pounding in his veins. He didn't think he'd ever been so angry in his entire life. The lift climbed to the top of the building and Merlin tugged at the sleeves of his brown uniform coat and his horrible, ugly, brown uniform trousers.

Ex-uniform, actually. He didn't work at Pendragon Industries anymore. He'd been sacked the previous day - apparently, they were replacing all of the cleaning staff with robots. Fucking robots! Merlin paced the lift and seethed.

Instead of going home yesterday morning, he'd gone to see his boyfriend at work, only for Will to say that he was leaving - running off with a personal trainer to a villa in Spain. Two years of mediocre conversation and even more mediocre sex brought to an end just like that.  _ "They're replacing me with a robot!" "Yeah, well, I know how they feel." _

And, it seemed that good old Will had been planning the move to Spain for quite some time because he'd failed to pay the rent for six months. When Merlin had woken up it had been to the collections agency knocking at the door. Eviction. They let him keep a suitcase of belongings, but they took everything else. The mirrored interior of the lift reflected an infinite amount of Merlins, mirrors upon mirrors upon mirrors. His life had gone from fairly shitty but predictable to completely unknowable in less than 24 hours, and something in him had snapped.

Now he was riding a lift to the top floor of Pendragon Industries. He was going to speak to Mr Uther Pendragon and he was going to beg for his job back. Single and homeless Merlin could handle, but single, homeless, and without an income was just one step too far.

Merlin's reflection judged him infinitely, his bloodshot eyes, his sleep-messy hair, his desperation. All he wanted was his job back. He would politely introduce himself to Uther Pendragon, calmly explain the circumstances, and, eventually, beg. It would be easy.

[--]

Arthur sat in his father's office and listened to Uther regretting his middle child's existence in clipped, concentrated tones. It was a familiar speech. Drain on income, shame to the family name, useless, nothing but a pretty face incapable of higher brain function. And on, and on. Arthur practically knew it by heart.

It didn't matter that this time, at least, Arthur was pretty sure he  _ deserved _ the lecture. Though he still maintained it was not his fault. It had been the most obnoxious marriage proposal yet, from the most obnoxious debutante imaginable, and Arthur had made a bet. The old apple trick. He had expected her to say no, but she had not. She had stood with that apple on her head, and he had loosed the arrow. Was it his fault that she had moved? No. But he did feel a  _ bit _ sorry about her hand. Apparently, there was a lot of damage to the tendons, and she was going to have to learn to write left-handed now. But, come on, was it really Arthur's fault that she had all beauty and absolutely zero brains? No.

So he endured Uther's lecture. It went on like it always had, until the very end. Which was when his father informed him that, starting the following day, he was going to start work.

"You're going to come and work for me. You've been sucking my bank accounts dry for a quarter of a century, and now you're going to work."

Arthur had just begun to argue when the lift dinged and a crazy person carrying a robotic hoover walked in and straight up to his father's desk. The man was as tall as Arthur, but slim and lithe where Arthur was broad and muscular. He was dressed like a vagrant who had spent the night sleeping rough, but there was something about him that immediately piqued Arthur's interest. He had wild, dark hair that had obviously never been combed, but his eyes were a clear, intriguing blue.

Add to that the fact that the stranger was shouting at his father in a heavy Glaswegian accent and wielding a robotic hoover with intent and you had precisely the kind of diversion that Arthur liked best.

Before Uther had a chance to do more than look confusedly at the robot thrower, an armed security officer burst into the room and Arthur's interest in the activities doubled. If there was one thing guaranteed to excite Arthur it was the addition of firepower to an already loaded situation.

In the ensuing struggle, the man was tackled to the floor, his hand outstretched towards the guard's gun which had somehow been knocked clear of the fray and right to Arthur's feet. Arthur, checking to make sure he wasn't being watched, kicked the gun, not towards the guard, but towards the crazy man, who caught it and fired a shot into the ceiling, gaining everyone's attention. Arthur rose and stepped behind the chair, not because it provided any cover, but because he could see everything so much better from there.

"I haven't come here to cause trouble. I just want my job back, Mister Pendragon."

Arthur's father laughed, cold and hollow. The stranger raised the gun. Arthur's father, never one to back down from a direct challenge, stepped around the desk and closer to the madman. Despite himself, Arthur felt a tinge of pride.

The stranger did not waver, though Arthur could practically taste his panic.

"I said I want my job back, and I am going to count to five, but if you don't do as I ask I'm going to shoot you. One."

The man was edging from panic into desperation, and, what was more worrying, he had obviously never held a gun before. But his arms were steady, even if his voice was not. Arthur didn't know if it was the uncouth manner, the blue eyes, or the gun being aimed at Arthur's father, but he wondered whether he had ever seen anyone quite so attractive.

"Two. Three."

Here the man cocked the pistol.

"Four."

He swallowed, but he did not seem too eager to continue counting. Arthur decided to help. "Five," Arthur supplied.

Startled, the man looked at Arthur and simultaneously pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Arthur's father's leg and he started to scream.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” the man asked Arthur, terrified. His eyes were really quite a beautiful blue.

“Five comes next,” Arthur supplied, calmly, coming to stand beside the gun-wielding stranger, “There’s no reason to be embarrassed, without access to proper education it’s perfectly acceptable-”

"For fuck's sake, I can count to five!” The man retorted, insulted. It was possible he was an inch or so taller than Arthur, but it was hard to tell because he was constantly moving. 

“If you shoot him in the head next time I’ll count to five for you," Arthur offered.

"Who the fuck are you?” the man asked, eyes wide.

“He’s nobody!” Uther growled, writhing on the floor and gripping his wounded leg.

“I’m his son,” Arthur supplied, smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

Their exit from Uther Pendragon's office could not have gone worse. Merlin had never meant to kidnap anybody. He’d never meant to shoot anybody, either. He’d only wanted to beg for his job back, but the devastation of the past 24 hours had done strange things to his brain, and now he was descending Pendragon Industries’ London headquarters in a lift, holding a gun to someone’s head.

Someone, Merlin wanted to add, that had movie-star good looks and a rogue, careless attitude that was arousing Merlin's interest despite the ridiculous circumstances.

They exited the lift into an underground car park, scaring the wits out of the four drivers who were waiting by their cars. One of whom took a step towards them, “Arthur?”

“Stay where you are, Leon, he’s armed,” Merlin's hostage, Arthur, said. He didn't sound scared, or worried, even. He sounded both resigned and like he was rather enjoying himself.

When they got to Merlin’s car, Merlin pushed Arthur through to the driver's seat and then got in beside him and buckled his seat belt. “Drive.” 

“I can't,” Arthur said, staring out the window at the limousine drivers, two of whom were on their phones - no doubt to the police. 

“What?” Merlin asked, starting to panic.

“I don't know how,” Arthur admitted. He met Merlin's incredulous eyes.

“How can you not know how to drive?”

“I never learned.”

“Why not?”

“I never had to,” Arthur said. The men outside were beginning to approach the car now, and Merlin’s panic was rising steadily. 

“Well, you do now. This one makes it go faster, that one slower. This big circle makes it turn. Now drive,” Merlin pointed with his gun hand, feeling an incredible sense of relief that his great-uncle (whose car he had inherited) hadn't driven a manual car.

Arthur did as he was told and a few minutes later they were heading north out of London. He was a remarkably competent driver for someone who'd never piloted a motor vehicle before. They travelled in silence, Merlin quietly freaking out and wondering what the fuck he was meant to do next.

“I can't believe you gave me into trouble about counting to five and you can't even drive a car," Merlin said, not really expecting Arthur to respond.

“What’s your name?” Arthur asked as they were stopped at a red light.

“I’m really going to tell you that,” Merlin retorted, as sarcastically as he could manage. Arthur scoffed, and Merlin glared at him.

“I can’t call you ‘Kidnapper’,” Arthur said as he accelerated, “it doesn’t exactly suit you. And besides, my father will know exactly who you are by now.”

Merlin cursed. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course, Uther would know who he was by now. They were probably plastered all over the news. There probably wasn’t a safe place in the country that they could hide. The futility of the whole exercise settled over Merlin and his panic gave way to a sort of resigned patience. He would get caught, he knew, he just had to try and hold that off for as long as possible.

“I’m Merlin,” He said, and he could hear the defeat in his voice, “Merlin Emrys.”

“With a name like that,” Arthur laughed, “I’m surprised they haven’t found you already.”

[--]

When they stopped for petrol Merlin locked Arthur in the car, although it should have been clear to him by now that Arthur had no plans to escape any time soon. For once in his adult life Arthur wasn't bored, and Merlin was certainly the least threatening kidnapper Arthur had ever had.

While Merlin filled the tank Arthur angled the rearview mirror to watch. It was only just possible to make out the pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers, and only then because Arthur knew it was there. He still looked like a vagrant, but he was armed, and that was hot. He was running his slim, pale hands through his black hair as though he was nervous, and Arthur suspected that he must be. Arthur had fucked up a lot in his life (a whole lot), but he’d never shot someone and then kidnapped someone else - that was a whole different level of shit.

However, there  _ was _ something about Merlin that excited Arthur, beyond the pistol and the kidnapping. It could have been his looks, which were unique in a lithe, sexy way. It could have been his energy - he never seemed to stop moving, even for a second. It could have been the way he muttered long, elegant strings of curse words under his breath when he was nervous. It could have been any one of those things, but whatever it was, Arthur was rather enjoying Merlin's company.

“We’re going in,” Merlin said, opening the drivers’ side door and standing aside to let Arthur out. Arthur took his time, letting his body brush against Merlin's as he stood, wanting to laugh as Merlin looked determinedly over Arthur's shoulder with his teeth clenched, a muscle flexing in his jaw. As soon as Arthur exited the car Merlin shut the door and locked it. “Don’t cause any trouble.”

Merlin walked half a step behind him as they entered the shop, looking fast in every direction, breathing in swear words. Behind the counter, there was one bored-looking attendant who was playing some game loudly on his phone. Merlin steered them towards the toilets, and when they entered Merlin stood by the door, “I’ll wait.” 

Arthur stepped up to the urinal and unzipped. “Does this get you off?” Arthur asked, looking over his shoulder at Merlin, “watching me?”

Though Merlin’s eyes were on the ceiling and not on Arthur, he was starting to blush. Arthur laughed, enjoying himself more than he probably should be in a kidnapping scenario. As he went to wash his hands Merlin stepped up to the urinal. Arthur kept his eyes on Merlin’s reflection as he washed and dried his hands. 

“Does this get you off?” Merlin asked as he buttoned his fly and walked to the sink, “watching me?”

“Not particularly, but there is something about that gun that suits you,” Arthur said, enjoying the renewed blush that coloured Merlin’s cheeks. Merlin pushed Arthur out the door in front of him and then walked closely behind him down the aisle. When Arthur grabbed a large bag of crisps off the shelf Merlin took them out of his hands and put them back.

“What are you doing?”

“I only have enough for the petrol,” Merlin said, sounding annoyed.

“It’s a packet of crisps,” Arthur said, stopping to look at Merlin, “surely…”

“Oh, aye, I’ve decided to kidnap you because I’m so flush with cash,” Merlin said, leaning in towards Arthur and speaking quietly. Arthur reached over him and grabbed the crisps again, as well as another few items. Merlin only stared.

“Get what you’d like, I can pay.” 

“Are you really going to buy me food?”

“I can’t have you starving to death while I’m having such fun, now, can I?”

“I'm sure I'm not the first person to tell you this, but you're a very special snowflake, did you know that?”

They gathered an entire basket full of things and Arthur paid cash for the petrol and the food. As they walked back to the car across the brightly lit forecourt Arthur spoke to Merlin quietly, mainly just to see his reaction, “you do realise that my father’s probably going to have you killed, right? Tortured first, maybe, but definitely killed.”

Arthur could hear Merlin swallow, “What if I let you go?”

“You shot him. Do you think he’s just going to forgive you?”

They had reached the car and Arthur got in the driver’s seat while Merlin slid into the passenger seat, removing the gun from his trousers and putting it back on his lap.

“Wait a minute,” Merlin said, holding Arthur’s gaze with a look of defiant anger, “why would I ask him to forgive me? Your father treated me like a piece of shit. Like just because I held a menial position in his company that I was disposable. I don't want him to forgive me. No one should ever feel like that.”

Arthur, who had scars as tangible proof as to how disposable his father found him, didn't have much to say to that, and after Merlin gave the directions for which way Arthur was to drive, they were both silent for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

As night fell, they found themselves parked outside of an abandoned house somewhere deep in the countryside. They'd been parked outside long enough that the windows in the car had fogged up. 

“It's empty,” Arthur said, rather disparagingly. Merlin silently agreed and got out to try and open the door. It was locked, of course, so Merlin waited for Arthur to exit the car and follow him to the rear of the house. That door was locked as well, but it was not a security door, and it had a decorative pattern of neat glass squares on it. Feeling Arthur's eyes on him Merlin wrapped his hand in the bottom of his t-shirt and punched through a windowpane. 

“Armed assault, kidnapping, breaking and entering...with all that on your CV who’d want to be a cleaner?”

Merlin laughed. He couldn’t understand why Arthur was acting so calm - he was being kidnapped, after all - but Merlin was beginning to actually enjoy his company. It was a very strange situation, and something Merlin didn’t want to spend too much time thinking on. When they got into the house it was shuttered and dark, all of the furniture was draped in sheets and blankets. It must have been someone's summer home.

Merlin pointed Arthur towards a chair by the electric fireplace and started ripping a dust sheet into long strips. Once Arthur was seated comfortably Merlin began to tie him to the chair. It was rather unfortunately and unignorably erotic. Merlin had tried not to stare at Arthur's hands on the steering wheel as he'd been diving. He'd tried not to notice Arthur's strong-looking, tanned forearms, he really had. But now, as Merlin wrapped the torn sheet around Arthur's wrist and Arthur drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair Merlin had given up on not staring and was going to have to settle for not _ biting.  _ Or licking. Or putting any part of Arthur's body in his mouth at all. Ever. 

By the time he'd finished tying Arthur's wrists Merlin felt cross-eyed with utterly inappropriate desire. Deciding it was probably best to get some things out of the way, Merlin cleared his throat and spoke. 

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, here. I’m not going to hurt you,” Merlin stood behind Arthur and reached under his arms, pulling a piece of the sheet around Arthur's chest. “But I am the kidnapper and you’re the…”

“Victim.” Arthur interrupted, calmly, his voice strange and intense, "what, you think this is my first time?"

"What?" 

"Don't sound so surprised, you know who my father is."

"Kidnapped before?"

"Twice, once when I was seven, and again when I was twelve."

"That's awful!" Merlin was genuinely horrified, and he couldn't help but picture a young, frightened Arthur being kidnapped at age seven.

"Says my kidnapper," Arthur said, laughing. 

"I am  _ not _ going to hurt you," Merlin said, again. 

"Are you going to try to have sex with me?" Arthur asked, and Merlin's hands faltered, his cheeks burning. He tightened the knot he was tying and tried not to think about how badly he wanted to  _ kiss the back of Arthur's neck _ . In actual fact, Merlin doubted whether he'd ever wanted to have sex with anyone  _ more _ than Arthur, but he most certainly did not want to have that sex in any sort of non-consensual way.

"No! I'm only trying you up so you can't escape. Is that too tight?"

“No, although I am starting to think we should have a safe word," Arthur said, almost laughing. Merlin stared at the back of Arthur’s head unable to comprehend his blasé attitude at a time like this.

"I told you I'm not going to try to have sex with you," Merlin said, forcefully, as he came back around the front of the chair and began tying one of Arthur’s ankles down. Arthur shifted slightly in the chair, probably testing his bonds, and Merlin couldn't help but notice the taut play of muscle in Arthur's thigh. Fucking hell it was not good for Merlin's fragile resolve to be talking about sex when his head was level with his captive’s crotch. 

“But it did cross your mind,” Arthur said, not making it a question.

“No,” Merlin replied, but it obviously wasn’t true.

“Liar,” Arthur said, and Merlin looked up to catch his eye. There was a glint of something like amusement there and again Merlin couldn’t understand how he could be so calm in a hostage situation. 

“I just want you to know that there are no sexual motives to my actions," Merlin said, firmly, walking away towards a bookshelf and gathering its covering blanket to put over Arthur in the chair.

“How disappointing,” Arthur said, and he sounded like he meant it. Merlin paused for a second and closed his eyes - how was he supposed to keep his head in the game with this kind of distraction? If he didn’t already feel like the universe was against him, ending up with a hostage who seemed to be actively enjoying his kidnapping was one crazy thing too far. 

Merlin tucked the blanket around Arthur's shoulders and then cobbled together a few blankets and pillows for the sofa before turning the electric fire on and laying down to go to sleep.

When he woke in the morning and the chair was empty Merlin wasn't even that surprised. Arthur was much stronger than him, so of course the knots had been easy to undo. He would just need to come to terms with the whole exercise being a complete waste of everything.

Merlin walked to the front window to see whether Arthur had taken the car or not when he heard a sound behind him and turned to see Arthur coming down the stairs, yawning.

“Did you sleep well?” Merlin was glad that he sounded annoyed -he  _ felt  _ annoyed, and not only because it was ridiculous that Arthur should still look so stupidly attractive first thing in the morning. His hair was tousled and there was a healthy length of stubble on his chin, but both of those looks suited him rather unfairly well.

“After I escaped from the chair you tied me to you mean?” Arthur asked, smiling and only slightly accusatory, “Yes. There's a bedroom up there. It was probably even more comfortable than the sofa”

“Well good, I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable during your kidnapping.”

“So you're still calling it a kidnapping, then?”

“What do you mean? Of course this is a kidnapping.”

“I'm not really buying it. For instance - have you even asked for a ransom yet?”

[--]

If Arthur was honest with himself, they didn’t both fit into the phone box. Not, at least, without invading each other’s personal space in a big, big way. But Arthur supremely didn’t mind. He’d come to the conclusion at some point that morning that his kidnapper was not only gorgeous as hell but funny and pleasant to be around. Even when he was tying Arthur to a chair.  _ Especially _ when he was tying Arthur to a chair. And at the moment Merlin was making a complete tit out of himself working up the nerve to make a ransom demand, and apart from it being strangely hot, Arthur found Merlin's determined ineptitude quite endearing. 

“Right,” Merlin said, gripping both sides of the telephone, "right.”

“Why don’t you threaten to chop me up into pieces or something? I saw that in a film once,” Arthur suggested. Merlin turned around, his face white, and Arthur laughed, “I know you wouldn’t  _ actually _ chop me up into pieces, but perhaps you could make my father think you might.”

“Right,” Merlin said, turning back to the phone. What followed was perhaps ten minutes of Merlin cursing rather inventively while threatening to cut Arthur up and send him home in tiny boxes. He shouted, hit the phone, and shouted some more. It was almost painfully arousing to watch him pretend to be a ruthless badass, and Arthur had to adjust himself on more than one occasion. When Merlin was finished he turned to Arthur, smiling all over his beautiful, dimpled face.

It took Arthur a considerable amount of self-control not to just start snogging him then and there, but the phone booth was  _ definitely _ too small for shagging, and Arthur didn't want to start something he couldn't finish. 

“That’s perfect,” Arthur said, not surprised that he sounded turned on, “now just pick up the phone and tell my father that.”

Arthur then watched as Merlin picked up the phone, fed money into the slot, and hung up five or six times. It was fascinating to see him switch from confident and angry to meek and terrified simply at the sound of a dial tone. After a few minutes, Arthur knew that there was no way Merlin was capable of making this phone call, no matter how many times they practised. What frustrated Arthur the most wasn’t Merlin's failure, it was that Arthur was  _ still _ incredibly turned on by him, even as he dropped another handful of coins on the ground. 

Deciding they had better leave the phone booth before Arthur forced himself on his kidnapper, Arthur reached forward, depressed the cradle and gripped Merlin by the shoulder. The look Merlin turned on him was a little annoyed, but mostly grateful.

“I think we're going to have to just send a letter.”


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin drove back to the cottage feeling like the most useless idiot ever placed on the earth. He’d fucked everything up so badly and now he was getting kidnapping advice from his captive. It was the most ridiculous situation imaginable. He would have gone straight to the police and turned himself in if it weren't for the fact that he was enjoying Arthur’s company. And Arthur was clearly happy to continue the charade, for whatever reason, so Merlin was equally happy to go along with it.

Inside the cottage again Arthur went straight upstairs and Merlin sat down at the table in the kitchen to compose the ransom letter. From upstairs he heard the sound of the toilet flushing, but Arthur didn’t come back down. It took Merlin about fifteen minutes to finish the letter, and he looked at it appreciatively when he was done. Not too shabby, he thought. 

He had just turned the kettle on and was about to call Arthur down to read the letter when there was a knock on the door. Merlin felt the blood draining out of his entire body. It was bound to be the police. Arthur’s head appeared at the bottom of the stairs and they looked at each other while there was a second knock on the door. Arthur nodded and mouthed  _ answer it _ .

Arthur did not follow him as he stepped to the door and, trembling, turned the knob.

“Good afternoon. My name is Miss Miller, and I live down the lane,” the woman at the door was definitely NOT police. She was probably in her mid-fifties, smartly dressed, and she looked too nosy to be any good for Merlin’s situation. 

“Hello,” Merlin said, keeping the door mostly shut.

“Who are you?” the woman said, cutting straight to the chase. She was trying to see past Merlin into the cottage, but Merlin blocked her view.

“Who am I?” Merlin asked, as though he hadn’t heard the question. He couldn’t feel his body - he was so nervous he thought he might pass out. 

“I know the family who own this cottage, son, and I know their schedule. So, I’m going to ask you again - who are you?”

“Are you coming back to bed soon, darling?” Arthur’s voice sounded loudly from behind him and Merlin turned to see Arthur walking towards him, naked, but with a sheet wrapped low around his waist. “Oh,” Arthur said, as though he hadn’t noticed Merlin was talking to someone at the door, “we have company?”

“This is Miss Miller, dear,” Merlin said, going along with Arthur’s game and glad that it might seem in character to stare at Arthur because he couldn't tear his eyes away. Those shoulders, those collarbones. Holy hell, the guy was fucking perfect. Even Ms Miller was staring.

“Ms Miller, yes of course! The Cartwrights mentioned you, you live down the lane, right?” Arthur adjusted his sheet and offered his hand to Miss Miller who shook it gently. Then he turned to Merlin and  _ smouldered _ , staring at Merlin's bottom lip with intent, stepping a few inches closer and inserting one, perfect, bare shoulder between Merlin and their guest, “I said, are you coming back to bed?”

“Who are you?” Miss Miller repeated, and Merlin was glad she spoke because every thought in his brain had been replaced by the searing hot image of Arthur biting his lip with his eyelids lowered suggestively.

“We're friends of Jack, Jack Cartwright,” Arthur supplied, “We were married a few weeks ago, but not quite ready for the honeymoon to be over, and Jack said we could come here for a little… privacy,” here Arthur winked at Merlin.

“Privacy?” Miss Miller asked, still staring openly at the acres of firm, tanned flesh Arthur was offering up for inspection.

Merlin felt one of Arthur's hands gently caress his cheek, but could no sooner have spoken than have flown himself to the moon.

“With Jack and the family away, the place was empty, so why not?” Arthur winked at Merlin again, almost purring. Merlin once again struggled for breath. And it was clear that Arthur's display was having an effect on Miss Miller as well - even the tips of her ears were blushing, “He'll be pleased to know you're looking out for the place, though. Why don't you come in for a cup of tea and we can phone him?" Arthur asked, pushing the door back so that Miss Miller could see into the cottage.

“No, thank you. I better be going,” she said, still not averting her eyes. 

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Miller,” Arthur said, and then he swaggered closer to Merlin and raised his shoulder, brushing their legs together and making very clear signals with his eyes before he turned away and walked up the stairs, looking over his shoulder at Merlin in a lingering way, twice. The sheet dipped low, exposing the base of Arthur's spine, and Merlin watched dimples appear and disappear as he climbed the steps, imagining what it would be like to kiss Arthur there, to run his tongue over those dimples.

“Take care, Miss Miller,” Merlin said, and he absent-mindedly closed the door on her breathless farewell.

Returning to the kitchen in a daze Merlin splashed cold water on his face and took a few long, calming breaths. It was not appropriate for him to come on to the person he had kidnapped. He’d said there were no sexual motives and that was true, but there was definite sexual attraction and it was starting to get the better of him. He covered his eyes with his hands when he heard Arthur coming back down the stairs, as though afraid that Arthur might still be half-clothed. Peeking through his fingers he saw Arthur lift the letter he’d spent so long on and read it.

“Thanks for that,” Merlin said, gesturing at the door, “I hope she doesn’t give us any more trouble.” 

“Is this the ransom letter?” Arthur asked, holding up the paper. Merlin was rather proud of his handiwork, and all the words cut and pasted from an old magazine.

“Aye.” 

“Anonymous.” 

“Aye.”

“Merlin my father knows who you are,” Arthur said, sounding very annoyed. Merlin’s face fell. Fuck. He hadn’t thought of that, “You are the worst kidnapper I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, and that’s all I am to you, isn’t it? Your latest kidnapper; just a lifestyle accessory. Don't worry if  _ I _ don't work out because  _ you _ can always get another one,” Merlin paced the kitchen as he spoke, his voice and tone rising with anger and annoyance with himself for being so crap at everything and for getting tangled up in this shit show, "you may have done this before, but I haven't, and I am trying my best, whatever you think. This is a very difficult situation for me, and your constant criticism is not helping."

“How much are you asking for?” Arthur said, completely ignoring Merlin’s toddler meltdown. Merlin thought it through for a few moments.

“Two million.”

“Pounds? Great British Pounds?” 

“Is there a problem?” 

“Two million pounds is not a lot of money for someone like me. It's almost embarrassing.”

Merlin’s head reeled. Two million pounds was not a lot of money? What kind of person could possibly think that two million pounds was not a lot of money? How much money did Arthur think he should be asking for? How much money did Uther  _ have _ ? Merlin sank down into a chair, head in his hands, “This is so much more complicated than I thought it would be.”

“You’re doing fine,” Arthur assured him, sounding like he meant it, “let’s just not lose sight of the fact that we have the opportunity to make millions of pounds here.”

Merlin looked up at him, and Arthur did not look away, “We?”

“Yes Merlin, you and me.”

“Is that not a little unusual?”

“Maybe.”

Merlin looked down, processing what Arthur had said, then he looked back again, fast, “How many millions?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some consensual violence in this chapter folx. Here's your warning.

Merlin looked like a frightened rabbit when Arthur re-joined him in the car. His eyes were wide, circled with black marks of exhaustion, and he looked as though he expected to be picked up by the cops at any second. Arthur laughed as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Would you relax? Look, it’s not even in the papers. I’m telling you, my father won’t want word of this getting out. He’ll have his own guys looking for me, sure, but not the police. Trust me, I know.”

“Listen to you Mister It’s Not My First Time," Merlin said, looking away. Arthur ignored him and opened the items he’d purchased. A pay-as-you-go smartphone loaded with £5 credit but purchased under a false name, a newspaper, a few chocolate bars and a bottle of Coke. He opened the Coke and took a sip, feeling Merlin's eyes on him, then he handed the bottle to Merlin. Merlin had bitten into one of the chocolate bars, and Arthur lost a few minutes of his life imagining what it would be like to kiss Merlin then, his mouth warm and tasting of chocolate. He also got a thrill of pleasure when Merlin took a sip of Coke, his lips against the mouth of the bottle where, moments ago, Arthur's own lips had been.

_ Yeah, _ Arthur admitted to himself,  _ I've got it bad. _ He cleared his throat and shook his head, getting back to business. 

“Ok, now we’re going to head round there where the light is better and then you’re going to take a quick video of me holding the newspaper and we’ll send it to my father. Proof of life, got it?”

“Why can’t you just phone him?” Merlin asked, sceptical.

“You could have recorded my voice before killing me, this is better," Arthur said, all business. Merlin went white as a sheet when Arthur mentioned murder, which wasn’t going to make his next suggestion any easier to pass. Arthur waited until the car was parked again and then turned to face Merlin, “Ok, now, punch me.”

“Um…” Merlin said, shaking his head, “I’ve seen that episode of Sherlock, it doesn’t end well.”

“If it doesn’t look like you’ve roughed me up at least a little my father won’t take the threat seriously, and I can’t exactly punch myself. So let’s go.”

“Physical violence isn’t exactly my thing.” 

“I had noticed that, actually,” Arthur said, laughing, “do you want me to punch you first? I have a suspicion that you’ll look very good in red,” Merlin began to blush immediately. “See?”

“Alright, alright! I’ll punch you, just give me a second. I have to work up to it.”

Arthur watched as Merlin got out of the car and paced for a few moments, enjoying the movement of his body in the strange, shadowed light of the car park. He really was  _ exquisite _ to look at. Arthur thought back to the sheet wearing earlier and the way that Merlin’s eyes had been glued to him and he wondered which one of them was going to cross the line first. 

“Ok, so, have you ever punched anybody before?” Arthur asked, getting out of the car and walking to where Merlin stood.

“Of course I have.” 

“I was just checking. Right. Let’s do this,” Arthur stood as still as he could and fought against the urge to close his eyes - he wanted to see what Merlin looked like when he let go.

[--]

Merlin paced for a few more minutes before stepping up to where Arthur stood. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. He’d lied earlier - he’d never punched anyone before, not even in school. He didn’t think it was exactly the sort of thing he was built for, but he was going to find out pretty soon whether that was true or not. He tried to think of everything he’d ever learned from movies and television before deciding that he was probably overthinking it and then trying to calm himself down.

It would have helped if Arthur wasn’t staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive, too. That kind of intense concentration would be enough to put anyone off. So Merlin closed his eyes and he thought of everyone who had ever done him wrong. He thought of every time he’d ever been short-changed, of every person who’d ever made him angry, then he opened his eyes and swung.

Later Merlin would remember how unnerving it had been to not feel any trepidation at all in the final instant. Later he would wonder whether he’d always had this potential for violence inside him. Later he’d worry that he was turning into Brad Pitt’s character in Fight Club. But right then, in the millisecond between deciding to act and acting, all Merlin could think about was the flash of pure lust that flooded Arthur’s features as he watched Merlin strike, and how incredibly fucking hot that was.

And in the moments directly following the punch all Merlin could do was wonder whether it was normal to be so turned on by someone whose lip was bleeding. 

“Ok, now I want to let this swell for a moment before we start recording. Have you got any tissues?”

“You knew when you went shopping that I was going to be punching you in the face and you didn’t think to buy tissues?”

“I was preoccupied with my impending split lip, I guess. Besides, they’re not for my face, they’re for your hand. How is it?”

“Bleeding. Why haven’t we got any tissues?”

After they found a few crumpled up napkins in the glove box and Merlin’s knuckles stopped bleeding, Arthur decided it was time to start recording. They made the message short and sweet. The amount they wanted, and instructions for it to be transferred to a bank account, followed by a threat of violence if the demands were not met. Arthur performed so well that even Merlin was worried for his safety by the end of it. When they sent away the recording they destroyed the phone and ditched it in a dumpster behind the shops. 

After that, there was nothing to do but wait. They were both smiling a little stupidly at each other, letting the last of the adrenaline wear off.

"What now?" Merlin asked, buoyed by their job well done. 

"Do you want to go out?" Arthur was worrying his split lip with his tongue and Merlin tried not to stare.

"Out?" Merlin swallowed, "like on a date? Isn't that a little unusual?"

"Ah, yes," Arthur chuckled, "because our relationship thus far has been completely ordinary."

[--]

The pub in the village somehow managed to be both quaint and seedy, and Arthur couldn't quite figure out how. He and Merlin took a table at the back of the lounge bar and ordered drinks. Arthur's lip was still sore enough to be annoying but not so sore that he wasn't actively daydreaming about pressing his mouth against various parts of Merlin's body hard enough for the split to reopen. Whether consciously or not Merlin kept running his cut knuckles against his bottom lip and the action was ridiculously distracting.

“It wasn't a failed relationship, no. We just, we drifted apart,” Merlin said, staring into his empty beer glass.

“He left you.”

“What? No,” Merlin said, then, “Yes.”

Arthur laughed kindly, “personal trainer?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s a common scenario. Besides, you have the demeanour of somebody whose partner has left them for a personal trainer.”

“It doesn't matter, we weren't well suited,” Merlin said, and to Arthur, it seemed as though it must be true, Merlin didn't seem that cut up about it anyway. “The sex wasn't even good. I guess I just didn't want to be alone,” Merlin was looking into the depths of his empty pint glass, eyes unfocused. Arthur wasn't entirely sure Merlin knew he'd said the last part out loud. 

At that moment a waitress arrived bearing a tray with ten empty shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. Merlin looked up, diverted, as Arthur distributed the shot glasses, five each, and started filling them.

“We're going to play a game. If I win I go free.”

“Please. You are free. I'm not a kidnapper.”

“Humour me, then,” Arthur said, clinking glasses together as he lined them up nice and straight.

“If that's what you want…” Merlin said, squaring up to the task.

“It's all I ever want," Arthur mumbled. They looked at each other across the table, then they both started drinking simultaneously, each of them knocking back shots as fast as they could and flipping the empty glasses over. They never broke eye contact. Arthur finished first, barely flinching. Merlin looked a little bit worse for wear, and, above all, defeated. Merlin swallowed, grimacing.

“So, you're free.” 

“That's right.” 

“Are you going to leave?”

“Well, I would, but…” Arthur smiled a long, slow smile and Merlin smiled back, his eyes glowing, “We haven't got our money yet.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a self-inflicted injury in this chapter, mentions of blood. Here's your warning.

When Merlin woke he lay on the sofa for a few long minutes and let the absurdity of the last few days wash over him. He’d lost his job, lost his partner, lost his home and all of his belongings, shot someone, kidnapped someone else, and he was currently squatting in the house he'd broken into. On top of that, he had now entered into some sort of arrangement with his would-be captor to still pursue the ransom money even though the kidnapping was officially at an end. Arthur, apparently, had been siphoning money from his father into half a dozen untraceable offshore accounts since he’d turned eighteen, hoping to have a cushion of sorts when his father eventually cut him off. Merlin found that quiet deviance incredibly attractive. 

To be fair, Merlin found almost everything about Arthur incredibly attractive. There was no denying that he was an oblivious, entitled prat, but that wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d been born into unfortunate circumstances. He was disgustingly rich, of course, but there wasn’t one single person in his life who actually cared about him. Merlin had always been poor as dirt, but he’d also always been loved. 

Merlin heard Arthur coming down the stairs and rose from the sofa, stretching towards the ceiling as Arthur got a small bowl from the cupboard then settled himself at the table with a blank piece of paper before him. He did not look around when Merlin approached, but aligned the bowl and the paper in a calm, meticulous way. Merlin leaned back against the counter, brow furrowed. Arthur’s face was serious.

"Do you want to know what they did next?"

"Who?"

"The kidnappers."

“Which ones?”

“The first ones.”

“Um…”

"They took a vial of my blood and sent it to my father."

"Weren’t you seven?”

"They did it again a few days later. And again. And again. Every few days until he paid them. He waited six weeks."

"Jesus! Arthur that's so fucked up!"

It was obvious that Arthur was traumatised by the whole experience, and he rubbed the inside of his arm as though clearing away the scars. Merlin wanted to comfort him, which was ridiculous, because Merlin was the last person who had held a gun to Arthur Pendragon's head, after all.

"Still, it was better than the guys when I was twelve. They beat the shit out of me. A lot."

"How long did he wait that time? Two months?"

"Three. And I don't even think he had anyone looking for me, either. Eventually, it made it to the papers and he was forced to pay up. He couldn't stand the idea of a tarnished reputation. If it hadn't made it to the papers I might not be alive."

"Your father, man. I'm glad I shot him."

Arthur laughed a sudden, unexpected laugh, and it was the most beautiful sound that Merlin had ever heard. He met Merlin's eyes across the table, his smile as bright as the sun.

"I am, too," Arthur said, then he turned his attention back to the paper and withdrew a razor from somewhere.

"What are you doing?"

"We're sending a letter."

"Why do you have a razor blade, Arthur? What are you doing?"

"I'm finally going to get him to take me seriously," Arthur said, putting the blade of the razor against his inner arm just below his elbow. Merlin tried to stop him, but before he could, Arthur had drawn the blade in a neat line, and blood began to drip into the bowl.

"Jesus fucking christ, Arthur," Merlin said, rushing to get a towel. When he got back Arthur had lowered the blade but he was watching the wound on his arm bleed with a vacant half-smile. Merlin pressed the towel against his arm and held it tightly. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"This whole kidnapping was your idea," Arthur reminded him.

"Yes, but I distinctly remember promising not to hurt you."

"You didn't. I hurt me."

"Well fucking stop, okay? Christ."

Merlin tied the towel tightly around Arthur's arm, hoping the cut wasn't as deep as it looked. Arthur, meanwhile, took out a regular q-tip and dipped it into the bowl of his own blood. He handed it to Merlin, "You've got to write fast. Once it cools it will be useless."

[--]

Arthur waited by the car while Merlin posted the letter, playing with the edges of the bandage on his arm. Merlin had been so gentle with Arthur when he’d cleaned the wound and dressed it after the letter was written. His fingers had been so soft, almost reverential, as they brushed Arthur’s skin. Arthur had never been touched gently like that, not even by lovers. Of course, none of his lovers had ever actually loved him, they loved his money and wanted his dick, and once they had had enough of both of those things they moved on. 

Arthur’s eyes unfocused as he remembered the night before, he and Merlin stumbling back to the cottage from the pub, Merlin leaning against Arthur, his breath hot against Arthur’s neck. Merlin’s lingering glances as he lay on the sofa and watched Arthur climb the stairs. He wondered what might have happened if he’d stayed downstairs.

“Do you think you could buy me some new clothes?” Merlin asked, slouching against the car beside Arthur. 

“New clothes?” 

“Yes. You may enjoy spending three days in the same pair of pants, but I don’t.”

“You mean you didn’t pack for an extended stay?”

The sound of Merlin’s laughter buoyed Arthur and he smiled, jarring his shoulder against Merlin’s. He held his hand out for the keys and Merlin handed them over, then they silently got into the car and Arthur drove towards the nearest large town where they stopped at an ASDA. Arthur had never been to an ASDA before, not that he would ever admit that to Merlin. 

Half an hour later they were back in the car. They’d bought food, clothes, and a case of beer. Arthur had also bought another disposable phone so that he could check his bank account and see whether the funds had been transferred. As he inserted the SIM card and turned the phone on he felt the car shaking oddly and turned to see Merlin in the passenger seat stripping out of his clothes. 

“What are you doing?”

“Changing.”

“Here?”

“Close your eyes if it embarrasses you,” Merlin laughed, bending down to remove his socks. Arthur turned his attention back to the phone, but at the very edge of his vision he could see flashes of skin as Merlin changed his t-shirt and then, not caring at all that they were in the middle of a crowded car park, his trousers and pants. 

“You couldn’t have done this in the toilets?” Arthur grumbled, opening a secure page on the internet browser on the phone, not at all noticing that the t-shirt which was presumably meant to cover Merlin modestly during the few seconds while he put on fresh pants was not exactly long enough. He did not look. He would not look. Why should he look? 

His eyes, sliding sideways of their own volition, caught a glimpse of pale thigh before he tore them back to the phone and entered his bank details.

While Arthur waited for the page to load Merlin got out of the car and jogged to a bin to throw away his old clothes. Shit. He suited the skinny black jeans and t-shirt so much more than the crumpled brown uniform. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Arthur looked back at the phone and sighed. The money had not been transferred, and though he hadn’t really expected it to have been, he was disappointed. Maybe his father would move faster once the letter written in blood arrived at the offices. Maybe his father wouldn’t move at all, and the money would never be transferred. 

If the money wasn’t transferred by the next afternoon, Merlin would have to make good on the threat of violence he had promised, and Arthur really didn’t think he had it in him.

If that didn’t work either, Arthur didn’t know what they were going to do next. 


	7. Chapter 7

When they got back to the cottage, Uther Pendragon was sitting in an armchair, waiting for them. Merlin, afraid that he might vomit from sheer terror, froze in the doorway, but Arthur went to the kitchen and put the food away that they’d bought at the shops. He worked methodically, as though nothing unusual at all had happened. Once everything was put where it should go, Arthur turned around.

“Good afternoon, father,” Arthur said, as though he’d been expected.

“Not exactly a life-threatening scenario, then,” Uther said, his voice frighteningly calm.

“I suppose that depends on your definition,” Arthur replied, opening a bottle of beer and tossing the cap onto the table. Merlin felt dizzy from his eyes snapping back and forth between Arthur and his father so quickly. What the hell was going on? Why was Uther here? How had he found them? _ What the hell was going on? _

“I see you are playing at happy families.”

“What would you know about happy families?”

Uther looked at his son and rolled his eyes slightly, but Arthur only took a drink from his beer. Merlin stayed exactly where he was, obviously not needing to be a part of this conversation in any way whatsoever, and too terrified to join in any case. Uther hadn’t so much as looked in Merlin’s direction, which simultaneously made Merlin glad and incredibly angry. He had shot Uther Pendragon. Shot him! And he didn’t have the decency to even seem to recognise him. 

“How did you find me?”

“Microchip,” Uther answered, as though this was completely normal.

“The scar on my hip?”

“Yes. After you were kidnapped at age seven I decided I needed a way to locate you at all times.”

Merlin's eyes went wide. If Uther had had a microchip inserted after Arthur’s first kidnapping, that meant that he’d known where Arthur was during the entirety of his second kidnapping but hadn’t bothered to rescue him. The second kidnapping at age twelve where he'd been beaten repeatedly. What had Arthur said? If it hadn't hit the papers, he didn't think his father would ever have paid the ransom.

Merlin watched Arthur processing this information, and he wanted to comfort Arthur. To tell him that he had worth, even if his father didn't think so. 

"There's an envelope there for you. It should contain everything you need to put an end to all of this nonsense," Uther stood, and Merlin was surprised to see little evidence that he had recently been shot. There were no bandages, crutches, or anything. Merlin hoped that Uther was, at least, still in pain. Horrible pain. He hoped Uther was losing a lot of sleep. He hoped the wound would get infected.

Arthur opened the envelope and paged quickly through the contents. From his vantage point, Merlin could see nothing at all, and he burned with curiosity. 

“Very comprehensive,” Arthur said, still with no emotion in his voice.

“That should be everything you need,” Uther said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not everything.”

“Ah, yes. The money,” Uther lifted his chin, his eyes narrowed, “how much were you hoping to get?”

“To disappear completely? Ten million.”

“Two,” Uther countered, but Arthur shook his head.

“Ten, or I go to the papers,” Arthur said, and he actually managed a laugh, “pardon my saying so father, but you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

Uther seemed to consider for a moment but then nodded, reaching into his pocket to withdraw his phone. He typed in a message, then replaced the phone in his pocket.

“It’ll be in your account by close of business.”

“What will you tell people?” 

“Drowning? Plane crash? Or perhaps some other accident. I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Uther said, as though he was coming up with a plot for a story and not contemplating the lie he would tell people to explain the disappearance of his middle child. Merlin couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “If you do ever contact me or your siblings again, I will make sure there  _ is _ an accident. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur said. 

Merlin moved aside as Uther left, but Uther never even looked at him. He and Arthur were quiet for a few minutes as they heard Uther get into a car and drive away, then Merlin went to join Arthur in the kitchen.

“What just happened?” Merlin asked, genuinely unsure. Arthur gestured to the envelope, taking a long drink from his beer then getting Merlin one. Merlin opened the envelope to find identity papers with Arthur’s face on them, but a different name. There was a birth certificate and a passport as well as bank statements and even a degree certificate from the University of London for a masters in business administration. Arthur was now James Arthur Cartwright. Funny.

“He’s finally getting rid of me,” Arthur shrugged.

Merlin looked at the papers in the envelope again, his brain sluggish. Uther had created an entire identity for Arthur and had agreed to pay him ten million pounds just so that he wouldn’t have to ever see him again. What the fuck was wrong with that man?

“A masters in business administration? Does he know you at all?”

“No,” Arthur laughed, taking the envelope from Merlin and looking at the degree award letter.

“Are you OK?” Merlin asked, thinking that if he’d just been disowned by his father then he would be rather upset about it.

“I will be when the money transfers,” Arthur said, smiling. 

“I mean it, Arthur. Are you OK?” 

“Honestly? I think I’m happier to be rid of him than he is to be rid of me,” Arthur looked at Merlin, and Merlin could tell that he was telling the truth.

“Right, well, as long as you’re not upset.”

“Actually, I feel a little like celebrating,” Arthur said, turning towards Merlin with a grin on his face.

“Celebrating? We could probably go back to the pub if you like.”

“No, I have something else in mind entirely.”

"You do?" 

"Yes," Arthur said, then he handed Merlin a sharp knife, "but there’s something I need you to do, first.”

"Absolutely not," Merlin said, shaking his head vehemently.

"I can't do it myself, Merlin, please."

"You want me to perform surgery on you," Merlin said, fairly certain that Arthur was completely crazy. Arthur, though, didn’t look crazy. He looked excited, almost elated, and incredibly, incredibly hot.

"I want you to take out the microchip my father had inserted against my will."

"By cutting you open with a kitchen knife."

"Do you have another suggestion?" 

"Wait until you get your ten million pounds and go to an actual doctor?"

Arthur bit his lip and nodded, considering. Merlin watched, his eyes on Arthur’s lips. Then Arthur’s eyes widened and he headed for the stairs, climbing them two at a time. When he came back he was holding the razor blade he had used to cut his arm. Merlin backed away from him, hands raised.

"No, Arthur, no. Just because you've found a sharper cutting instrument does not mean I'm going to do this," Merlin protested, angry now.

“My father knows where I am every second of every day. Since I was seven years old. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?” Arthur asked, clearly trying to reason with him. Merlin knew exactly how he would feel if he’d learned something like that. Violated. Dirty. He knew that the microchip would have to be removed and destroyed, as soon as possible. Would he be able to do this? 

“Boil some water,” Merlin said eventually, going to get the first aid kit.

[--]

“I’m surprised you didn’t know it was there,” Merlin said, securing the bandage over the small wound he’d made above Arthur’s hip bone. The cut had been small and shallow, and had bled far less than the one Arthur had made on his own arm. Merlin had seriously not enjoyed performing the miniature operation, his face had been pale, his hands trembling. 

Arthur twisted slightly to look down at his own hip where Merlin’s long fingers were pressing the edges of the small bandage. The microchip had been destroyed. Once Merlin had removed it, Arthur had smashed it with the bottom of his beer bottle. Simple. And now he need never speak to anyone in his family ever again. He really did feel like celebrating.

“I was seven years old. I just thought it was another scar from the kidnapping.”

“It was visible beneath the skin, Arthur,” Merlin said, standing, “surely someone else would have pointed it out. I can’t be the first person who has looked at you so closely.”

“No,” Arthur said, taking a half-step closer to Merlin, “but you might be the only person in the world who has ever actually seen me.”

Merlin licked his lips, and Arthur watched him. He knew that Merlin wanted him, but doubted it could be as much as Arthur wanted him. He also knew that Merlin would never make the first move. Merlin had held a gun to Arthur’s head, he would not make the first move, even if he wanted to.

Arthur, however, had never once felt threatened by Merlin. Not even when Merlin had been threatening him and holding a gun to his head. He had never believed for a second that Merlin intended to harm him. After two fairly serious abductions you learned how to read people, and Merlin simply did not possess the potential for violence.

So, Arthur made the first move. He kissed Merlin, tentatively at first, but when Merlin began to kiss him back, Arthur kissed him wantonly and without restraint. Merlin’s mouth tasted of beer, his hands gentle against Arthur’s skin. They kissed as though they had invented kissing, each press of lip to lip new, exciting, and raw. 

When Arthur’s phone pinged with an alert, they reluctantly pulled away from each other. Arthur opened the message and smiled, then turned the phone around to show Merlin the message. It was an email from his bank confirming a wire transfer.

“Holy fuck,” Merlin said, his eyes impossibly wide.

“I told you I was worth more than two million,” Arthur said, kissing the edge of Merlin’s jaw. Arthur felt dizzy and lightheaded like he wanted to dance or cry or sing.

“I can’t believe he just  _ gave _ you ten million pounds.”

“Technically, it’s your ransom,” Arthur said, sucking gently on Merlin’s earlobe, “maybe you aren’t the worst kidnapper I’ve ever had, after all.”

“I might be a totally crap kidnapper,” Merlin said, pushing Arthur backwards against the table, “but there are some things I’m good at.”


	8. Chapter 8

"No, like this," Arthur said, adjusting Merlin's stance and grip. Merlin held the bow and arrow aimed at the target, though he struggled to concentrate with Arthur standing so close.

Merlin focused and held steady, then released the arrow which flew on target. Merlin cursed joyously and Arthur laughed, pleased that his diligent instruction had been worthwhile.

Merlin handed the bow to Arthur who raised an arrow and sighted, tongue between his teeth and brow furrowed in concentration. Merlin watched, remembering their lazy morning spent under the heavy covers as the snow fell. Here in the northern part of Norway the hours of darkness seemed endless, even in the springtime, yet Arthur and Merlin somehow managed to find ways to keep themselves occupied. 

"Shit," Arthur said, his arrow further from the centre of the target than Merlin's had been.

"The student has become the master," Merlin cackled, knowing it would annoy Arthur. Arthur turned on him, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"One good shot does not a master make," Arthur said, shouldering the bow and advancing on Merlin, who backed away, hands held defensively before him.

"I concede," Merlin wailed, as Arthur tackled him into the soft snow beside them. Arthur kissed him heartily until they were both breathless.

"It is too cold for kissing out of doors," Merlin complained, his fingers numbing slightly despite his heavy gloves.

"It's almost warm compared to last month," Arthur said, crawling off Merlin and standing up, then offering his hand to Merlin who took it gratefully. Arthur brushed the snow off Merlin then took his hand again as they walked back to their house.

"Norway was your idea," Merlin reminded him, though he loved it here.

"I've always wanted to live somewhere I could see the Northern Lights," Arthur replied, looking wistfully into the cloudless sky.

"And how is that working out for you?" Merlin asked, knowing perfectly well what Arthur's answer would be. Arthur pouted, somehow managing to still look impossibly attractive.

"I don't know, I haven't managed to see them, yet."

Merlin nodded, smiling wickedly, "And why not?"

Arthur stopped walking and pulled Merlin to him, kissing him fiercely again until Merlin's knees started to weaken.

"Because we're too busy fucking to watch the lights in the sky," Arthur purred, biting Merlin's jaw.

"Tut, tut, Mister Cartwright," Merlin laughed, pulling Arthur into their house and locking the door behind them. Arthur had hung up their bow and was already removing his snow gear as Merlin watched hungrily, "language!"

"Does this get you off," Arthur asked, pulling his t-shirt over his head, blond hair messy and wet at the edges from snow, "watching me?" 

Merlin nodded comically, unable to stop smiling, and began to slowly take off his many layers. Arthur stood in just his jeans and watched Merlin undressing. It had been seven months since they had left England together. Seven months spent learning everything they could about one another. Seven months spent, if Merlin was honest, mostly in bed.

Seven months of Merlin teaching Arthur his own worth and value, and of Arthur growing correspondingly more valuable.

When Merlin, too, stood barefoot in his jeans, Arthur approached him past the mounds of wet outerwear. Merlin let Arthur press him back against the cold door as they kissed, Arthur’s hands warm and strong against his skin. Merlin could still picture Arthur's hands as they had been that first, utterly insane, day. Thin and tanned as they held the steering wheel, and utterly distracting. Now that Merlin knew exactly what those hands could do he found them even more distracting, and often found himself touching Arthur's fingers, running his own along their length. It drove Arthur slightly mad, and had led to more than one missed meal.

"It's getting dark," Merlin whispered as Arthur’s mouth moved down his neck. 

"Is it?"

"It's a cloudless sky," Merlin mentioned half-heartedly as he wrapped his legs around Arthur's waist.

"Mm-hmm."

"Might be- ahh- Arthur… might be a good chance to see the lights," Merlin muttered, breathless as Arthur carried him into the living room and knelt, laying Merlin down onto the faux fur rug before their massive windows. The sun was setting, the sky lit with reds and golds. Arthur licked his tongue into Merlin's navel as Merlin squirmed beneath him.

"We'll catch them another time," Arthur said, slowly unbuttoning Merlin's trousers as Merlin, dizzy with joy, laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope I've done you all proud. I had a lot of fun with this one. If you do manage to watch the film, I hope you enjoy it. My little story is a lot less Danny Boyle, but I did my best. <3


End file.
